


the sky before it breaks

by Ushio



Category: Cardcaptor Sakura
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Character Study, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Femslash, tomoyo bonds with akiho over being gay and stressed: the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ushio/pseuds/Ushio
Summary: Tomoyo has bottled up one too many feelings and Akiho helps her work through it.  A quiet moment.





	the sky before it breaks

**Author's Note:**

> today I was feeling guilty because I hadn't written anything for femslash feb so I wipped this out in a bit of a rush. I've watched until episode 7 of clear card and i think these two would make a cute couple!! besides it would do Tomoyo some good to have other crushes outside sakura. it's all very innocent and sweet bc they're literally 12 but i might continue this if you guys want me to!  
> i hope yall enjoy it <3

 

“I want to be soft and what

is softer than the sky

before it breaks?”

 

_**Kayleb Rae Candrilli —**_

_"When I transition will I lose my taste for the storm?”_

 

* * *

 

Tomoyo would never admit it out loud, not to herself and certainly not to Sakura, but she feels… displaced. Unwanted. As if she was not needed any longer. It’s not a big deal and it’s not an overwhelming sensation; she is fine; she is _more_ than fine and most of it is just in her head. Which only makes it worse because she _knows_ there is nothing to worry about, she knows Sakura needs her and loves her as much as always and yet… the feeling persists. She is smart enough and self-aware enough to know it has to do with Li and their blooming romance. It’s lovely to watch and even lovelier to root for — the way Sakura smiles and blushes and just _glows_ from head to toe fills Tomoyo with a deep-seated sense of satisfaction and happiness. She has fun teasing them and she enjoys gently prodding them towards each-other, because they’re oblivious and shy enough to never even hold hands if let to their own devices. She likes gossiping with Meiling about them and she’s always pleased when Sakura tells her about this or that she’s planning on cooking for him.  
  
And yet. Somewhere, deep within her, amidst the shadows she never dares to tread, there is an ugly, terribly uncouth feeling that rears its horrible face from time to time and never dies no matter how hard she stomps on it. Tomoyo hates this tiny part of herself. Hates that she can’t support Sakura with her whole being, as she should, _as she wants to_. Hates that she wants, she craves, she yearns—  
  
This miniscule part of her heart just wants things to go back to the way they were _before_ Li ever arrived. She doesn’t want Sakura for herself, nor does she indulge in daydreaming and fantasizing because Sakura just doesn’t love her like that — and she never will. That is fine. She has made her peace with it. She can live with that. But she misses feeling like they were each-other’s best friends. She misses being the first one she would call about something, the first one she would confide in, the first one in her heart. She misses being Sakura’s most important person, plain and simple. Back when her feelings towards Li became evident (long before neither of them had even thought about it), Tomoyo told herself it would all be fine. She could share Sakura’s heart with Li. Things wouldn’t have to change, right?  
  
And she was _right_. Nothing has changed at all — and Tomoyo has never been more afraid in her whole life. It doesn’t make any rational sense: everything goes on as it ever has; Sakura smiles at her like always and wears her costumes like always and shares everything with her as she always has. Why, then, does she feel like crying sometimes, whenever Sakura laughs open-hearted at something Li just said? Why, then, does she feel breathless and dizzy, her blood rushing with terror and adrenaline whenever Sakura says goodbye? It’s almost as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, tethering on something invisible, frail, about to break—  
  
Were she able to speak about this with her mother, she would probably say this is just how it feels, being twelve. She has just started middle school. Of course, she is afraid.  
  
What she had not considered is that she’s not the only one.  
  
“Tomoyo-chan…” Akiho’s soft, little voice makes her look up. She’s standing close, hands gripping the edge of her uniform jacket and nervously tugging on it, most likely completely unaware of it. Tomoyo blinks, trying to regain her cool, and pushes the thoughts back to the dark confines where they came from. She feels unsteady but still regards Akiho with a sweet, mostly sincere smile. That seems to do the trick and Akiho’s nervous stance relaxes somewhat; she smiles back, shyly.

“What is it, Akiho-chan? Are you okay?” Says Tomoyo, more out of politeness than actual concern; she likes Akiho just fine but she still feels too disgruntled to properly care about her surroundings or the people in them.

“Well, um, that’s actually what I was going to ask you…” Akiho drops her eyes and Tomoyo tilts her head, confused. “I mean, everyone else left already.”

Oh. Too disgruntled indeed. A quick glance around ascertains her words; even the teacher has left by now and only the two of them remain from choir practice. Tomoyo feels herself blush, embarrassed by her lack of attention and lowers her head, ashamed. Surely everyone noticed her so out of it she hadn’t even moved… how unbecoming, her mother would say. It’s not a big deal but it’s a sign that she needs to go home and lie down and just sleep this restlessness away.

Swallowing her discomfort, Tomoyo stands up and gathers her music sheets; her hands are trembling ever so slightly and she’s becoming hyper-aware of Akiho’s presence and her watchful gaze. Clearing her throat, she attempts to divert her eyes with some conversation.

“Thank you for waiting for me Akiho-chan. You didn’t have to,” she says, her voice sweet and mellow. “I’m fine, just tired.”

Mechanically, Tomoyo unfastens her backpack, takes out her plastic folder and puts away the sheets. She moves fast, with precision and efficiency, not a gesture wasted. Her back always to Akiho so she can’t see her expression.

“Are you… sure? I mean. I wouldn’t like to bother you but you don’t seem… fine.”

“Well, I am.” She replies, perhaps a bit more curtly than she should have. When she turns around she immediately regrets her tone because Akiho has step back, peevish and rueful. Tomoyo takes a deep breath and takes one of Akiho’s hands, face still flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, Akiho-chan. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I-it’s fine! Really, it’s okay…”

“It’s not. You didn’t do anything to deserve such rudeness. I’m sorry, I’m just — I’m embarrassed,” admits Tomoyo, taking her backpack with her free hand. Tugging at Akiho, they leave the empty class behind, still holding onto one another. For a few steps they say nothing and do not even look at each-other; Tomoyo just feels ill and queasy now. Not like herself. Not like the person she wants to be. She doesn’t _do_ this kind of thing, she’s not rude and inattentive and _jealous and envious and terrible_ —

Akiho squeezes her hand and Tomoyo turns to look at her. She’s smiling softly, head tilted, and her curls brush her cheeks with such a softness it looks unreal. Tomoyo wonders, fleetingly, whether her hair feels as silky as it looks. The sunset spills through the window and paints her in yellowish-orange light; set alight there is something angelic about her and Tomoyo’s heart skips.

“You know, I’m really happy you convinced me to join the choir. I love singing and I love even more that I can do it with you,” she says, voice clear and firm and more certain of herself than Tomoyo has ever heard her. She can’t help but smile at her; Akiho has a beautiful voice.

“You’re too kind. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Grins Akiho, sweetly. She takes a step forward and her demeanor shifts into something more vulnerable; open. “I… I know we don’t know each-other that well, yet. But I really like you Tomoyo-chan and I worry about you. I feel like… like you pressure yourself too much.”

Tomoyo’s first instinct is to snarl at Akiho, which surprises and horrifies her at once. She is not used to speaking about her inner thoughts; she doesn’t have that kind of relationship with Sakura (it’s not that they don’t trust or love each-other; they just don’t _talk_ about feelings all that much) and that is _fine_ , that is okay, she does not need that. Right? But — to lie to Akiho right to her face would be truly unfair to her. She’s trying so hard. Tomoyo knows how hard socializing and interacting with others is on her. Akiho’s being really brave, confronting her like this… and it’s only fair Tomoyo acknowledges that courage too.

She averts her eyes, heart racing a mile an hour, much too addlebrained to form a coherent sentence. She’s scared. But—

“I’m worried about something” she says quietly. Akiho squeezes her hand gently and it eases something within Tomoyo’s heart. “I’m… too scared to talk about this something. I’ve never told anyone. But that’s why I don’t normally think about it at school. I don’t know what happened back there, at class. I suppose I was distracted. I’m just… embarrassed everyone saw me with my guard low.”

The moment she says it Tomoyo realizes _she is always on her guard_. She has never put such thoughts in words before. Not even to herself. She doesn’t keep a diary, doesn’t dwell too much on things. But now, saying this, acknowledging it… it feels good. It hurts, too. She feels her eyes swell with tears and squeezes them shut to prevent them from falling. She feels the need to become smaller, invisible, to disappear and get away, so she lets go of Akiho’s hand and embraces herself. The sun has long set and the hallway stands dark and cold, soaked with shadows. For the first time in her whole life, Tomoyo feels crystal-spun, brittle and clear. She could break. _She will break_. She has opened a latch that had been shut for a long time and she wants to close it, doesn’t know how, _needs to know how_ —

Akiho doesn't _do_ anything to comfort her. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t touch her, doesn’t even move for a while. But it is exactly what Tomoyo needs: time to recover and reign herself and regain some sense of control over her feelings. Carefully, methodically, she stashes them away to contemplate maybe later or maybe never again; she feels drained enough for a lifetime. Once she has willed the tears away she turns to Akiho, who hasn’t said a word. She feels more centered now but also more vulnerable; like she could break apart any moment now. They stare at each-other and Akiho gifts her with a small smile. Tomoyo can’t help smiling back, despite the humiliation and the confusion and the slight, irrational anger she feels at her for stirring such a response in her. She has never felt less like herself, like the person she wants to be: elegant and quiet and polite and beautifully clever. She feels like a child.

Lost.

“Do you feel better now?” asks Akiho, offering up her hand somewhat rigidly; she’s afraid. Tomoyo stares at her, at her hand, and tries to think about how she feels but she can’t think about nothing at all. She’s been hollowed out, scooped of all emotions — at least for now. She’s just tired.

But she can’t lie.

“I do.”

When she takes Akiho’s hand something blooms, unfurling, deep inside her chest. Something sweet. Something kind. They walk out of the school together, holding hands, and Tomoyo apologizes profusely to her bodyguards, who had been waiting outside the whole time. They simply smile and offer Akiho a ride home. Tomoyo doesn’t let go of her hand right until the very moment she has to get down; but when Akiho looks up to her to say goodbye she is not afraid to do so. Her newfound courage even allows her to say:

_Thank you._

And she takes home with her Akiho’s smile; dimpled, gentle, beloved.

 


End file.
